Unspoken, Simply Understood
by Who Am I Now
Summary: When people move on, things change. A/U Tiva.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing. Honest.

A/N: So this was something I had to get out of my head. Something like it could so easily happen in my own opinion anyway. Enjoy.

When they told her that the bullet came as close as it could come without leaving her unable to bear children. She felt nothing. When they told her that had she been delayed longer in coming to the hospital, she would have died from blood loss, she tried to remember how she had felt just before she passed out. _'Should she have felt more?'_ Know thy self, a great man once said. He saw artistry in the horror. It had taken her a long time to agree. The longer one fights the easier it is to hear the melody. You either hear it, or that gun at your hip begins to look useful for other reasons.

Had she ever a choice, she was not sure this was the life she would have chosen. But then, choice was not something she or anyone else around her ever had. Her nation, assailed on all sides by enemies, struggled to survive every single day. Struggled to carry on against an assault that she was slowly coming to believe was never going to end. A war they fought, yet perhaps it was one that they could not win. That she had suspected for sometime and ultimately, it was the reason she came back. She was a soldier, first and foremost. And when it came time for war, soldiers fought.

She looked them in the eye when they asked if it was an order, when they asked if it was her father and she had simply shrugged. Let them think what they will. The truth was her farther had kept her away as long as he could. He kept her from the suicide bombers, kept her from rocket attacks, and kept her from those that prized Mossad scalps more than any other. It had been just another day, until she had heard about yet more attacks from the Gaza Strip, more Israeli dead. Suddenly the missing marine didn't seem all that important. It had happened prior to that, of course, but that day she finally realised why she had been attached to NCIS. And it had little to do with co-operation.

There is one thing about soldiers that everyone knows. They fight, they get hurt, and they die. It had only been a matter of time, a matter of time and a lucky shot by a turncoat. They only thing that had saved her was that the hospital had been so near.

The blaring white walls of the hospital room had been the only thing to greet her when she woke, the walls, a simple card from her father and a view of Tel Aviv out the window. Her first instinct had been to panic and it had not lessened in her drug induced haze when she had struggled against the IV lines and the lancing pain in her abdomen to reach under her pillow for a gun that was not there. Her screams as she thrashed on the bed had brought the nurses and they ensured that she quickly found the peace of sleep again.

When she next woke she was less disorientated and the doctor told her that surgery went well. She simply asked about rehabilitation, all the while staring at the empty chair beside her bed. Once she would have expected a room full of people. Once she would have expected black roses. Once she would have expected one of the rare looks from her partner. A look where the game was forgotten and what they pretended didn't exist was laid bare, if only for a few fleeting moments. It was unspoken, simply understood.

She had thought she would move on or at least that with time the memories would dim and new people would move into her life. Never forgotten, not replaced, just something to fill the void. For two years that absence had plagued her, haunted her at every turn. Those that used to pick her up were gone, those that stood beside her and whose unneeded support was always appreciated, if not necessary. There had been a boss that guided her, a technician that grew into a friend and a partner that saw deeper than anyone else ever had no matter how hard she tried to deny him. He had always been upset she could get close to him without been noticed. He had not realised she was simply returning the favour.

Returning to Israel had brought what she thought she craved back to the workplace, professionalism. It was difficult to get attached to somebody who could be dead tomorrow. That air of detachment floated around Mossad like a protective blanket. Relationships were not forbidden, just not sought. Her life was not devoid of humour, nor happiness or fun. It just never ran deeper than the surface. Physical relationships were never much more than a source of comfort within the Agency. Seeking more meant looking elsewhere, but then they might become a target.

She knew each and every person was prepared to die for Israel; she was not sure how many people she would be willing to sacrifice herself for though, or them her. The only people on her personal list were thousands of kilometres away, probably unaware she was even hurt, let alone how close she had come to death. She hoped they never found out. Their response would tell her more than anything else ever could. She was not sure what she feared more, concern or no response at all. She did not know why, she just knew that she wished for neither. When the nurse came and injected something into her IV line, sleep was not long in following. Her thoughts all the while on her war that could not be won and all she had left behind to fight it.

That pain, which made everything else seem trivial, could not have shielded her from what assailed her the next day. The nurses had just left after redressing her wound, the sun that turned the city into an oven had been reflecting off the steel on both sides of her bed which she had gripped to keep from crying out. Breathless and bathed in sweat, she had been unprepared when the Mossad officer walked swiftly into her room. He took one look at her panting form, at the empty, stark room before moving to her side and asking quietly, "Officer David?"

She knew instantly that something was wrong. If not for the fact that the first person to come visit her was not her farther, was not even a member of her team or anyone she knew from Mossad, the tone of his voice would have given it away. Anxious, sharp and careful, a man used to delivering bad news. "Yes, Officer…?"

A light smile touched his features before disappearing. "Officer Samuelson." He looked down at the papers in his hands as she nodded, steeling himself. "The doctors report that you should make a full recovery, something to be thankful for in these times?"

"Yes, something to be thankful for, though something I would just as soon have avoided." Once again that small smile touched his face before disappearing. His eyes moved over her and toward the door, something she could help noticing. '_Somewhere to be or wishing he was anywhere else?_' She was still not sure. "The doctors believe with just a few months of physical therapy I should be fine." She paused for the briefest second, struggling to gather the courage to ask what was necessary. "What of my team?"

He flinched but to his credit he spoke without hesitation, though he failed to meet her eyes. "Dead. They moved off after the traitor after you were shot. They were not so lucky." He stopped briefly, perhaps letting the information sink in, perhaps wondering at what it meant that been shoot in the stomach was considered lucky. "To their credit the traitor also perished in the ensuing exchange."

Though death was a more closely accepted part of life at Mossad, it still came as a shock, "Both dead…Kira and Seth…." her voiced sounded hollow even to her own ears, "that should not have happened." They were young, too young. She struggled to sit up but he placed a hand on her shoulder to push her back down.

"No it shouldn't have. We lose too many of our best in this struggle." He shook his head sadly and she saw something flicker in his eyes briefly before disappearing. No one was untouched, she was reminded once again. "I am sorry for your loss."

She nodded and said simply as she recalled their faces, trying to memorize every detail "As am I."

"If you feel well enough, there is a …message from the Agency?" he said as he walked around to the other side of the bed and sat in the chair that was reserved for people that never came.

She didn't miss the way his voice dropped, nor the way he was studying the documents that he held and realised that this, rather then the news of the deaths of her friends and fellow agents was what he had been dreading. "Please, go ahead."

"Ok, but if you will be patient with me I think I would prefer to just read it, rather than have you hear it in my words," he waited for her ascent before clearing his throat and reading, his head bowed, "Officer Ziva David, The events of Friday the sixteenth, which led to all those under your command dead and yourself grievously wounded, are not acceptable. By order of the office of the Director, you are hereby relieved of command, removed from active duty and placed on extended leave pending investigation by internal affairs. Your weapon and all identification are to be surrendered and you are to report as soon as is possible for interrogation. Failure to comply with these orders will result in the severest of penalties." He looked up and finally met her eye, "I am sorry."

She simply sat there, stunned. Investigation? Office of the Director? Her Father? Removed for active duty? She knew what that meant, everyone did. Fewer than five percent of people placed under investigation ever saw field work again, at least at Mossad. Some moved to the army. If she was not discharged, or worse, the best she could hope for was going to be, as Tony have would said, riding a desk for the rest of her life. And just like that she understood. "He's overreacting," she whispered.

Not realising that he had heard, she was surprised when Samuelson spoke, "Every father has that right, No? Some are just more able than others…"

She tried to ignore that last part. "I should be able to choose what I do with my life; he should not be able to interfere-"

He cut her off, harshly. "Two agents are dead, Officer David. I would say he has just cause. In fact if he did not, there would be rumours at the very least." She could not argue with that, yet she could not help but be upset that the life she had imagined, the life she had sacrificed everything for had simply vanished. Samuelson stood and took a few envelopes out of his hands and placed them on the table beside her bed. "I took the liberty of bringing those from your office." He looked back to her and sadly tapped his folder. "Now if you'll excuse me I have more bad news to deliver. Shalom, Officer David."

"Shalom, Officer Samuelson," she said as she watched him turn and leave. Once again her world consisted of the white walls, her father's card and the dull ache in her abdomen. Yet this time there were the letters. She would have ignored them, would have left them for days without a second glance so she could be alone with her pain had she not seen the stamp on the one that stood on top. The American flag was just too tempting.

She picked it up, noticed the thick, expensive paper with her named scrawled across its surface in proper cursive and began to imagine what they could have sent her. Despite everything, a small smile fought its way onto her lips as she imagined a letter from each of them and words of kindness. Almost eagerly she tore back the flap and was surprised to find a single thick piece of paper inside. When she pulled it out and read the words her heart lurched in her chest, her stomach suddenly burned. For the first time in years tears fell from her eyes, the first few words playing over and over again in her mind. "You are cordially invited to the wedding of Anthony DiNozzo and…"

A/N: I know, I'm evil, yadda yadda yadda.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If I didn't own anything before I doubly don't now.

A/N: Umm I feel the need to clarify some stuff. Some of you may have ideas about who he might be marrying and I'm here to tell you it won't be anyone you know. Just so you know I haven't seen most of season six, just the first four episodes and am now waiting for the DVDs. So if there is someone, forgive me but I have no idea who'd you expect. Any who, as such you can take this stories premise to be that about halfway through season six Ziva left and now it is two and a bit years latter. I did call this an A/U…With that out of the way and a big thank you to those that reviewed (letting me know I'm not too far off base) enjoy.

He sat alone in his small apartment as the rain tumbled down outside. It was one of those storms, where the roof became an instrument, the world blurred through the windows, the wind ripped through the trees and the occasional flash of lightening turned night to day. It had started in the mid afternoon as the cold front hit, little warning expect for the gathering of clouds on the horizon, though he didn't see much coming these days anyway.

On returning home he had been intending to cook. A long day at the office generally meant he did little else but think about what he was going to do that night, and pasta had been on his mind for hours. Paperwork tended to have that effect on him. Not even McGee had distracted him for long, stealing the ink from all his pens could only go so far and his partner hadn't even appreciated the look on Gibbs face. _'If he had to spend another week camped behind that desk…'_ He let the thought go unfinished, something would come up. Something always came up.

It was what was in his mail box when he got home that made him order pizza, open a beer and put on an old favourite. Classic Connery, classic Bond. A man that needed nothing and no one, a man that he could relate to. Yet he found that the movie held little interest for him this night, and the weather even less. The pizza lay half eaten beside him on the couch and two empty beer bottles sat beside his half finished one on the table.

He had enjoyed many such nights in the past but tonight he found his mind wondering, touching on things he had thought he had buried years ago. He was not sure why he had felt the need to get rid of them in the first place, to put it all behind him, but he had. Or at least thought he had. The women had left, and lied about the reasons. Heated words were exchange, in anger, not passion, and things had gone steadily down hill from there. They had been separated once before and she had told him he could have called. He had been unable to do anything but look at her with the words, 'So could have you' on the tip of his tongue. In just over two years there had not been one call, one email or one letter.

And it had stayed that way too, right up until he had sent the invitation. He had expected no reply. He had wanted no reply. He hadn't known why, it was just better that way. Yet in his mail box, sitting innocently in a little blue envelope had been her RSVP. Ziva David was coming to his wedding. And he was not sure why that was worse.

Thinking about it now, a weak reasoning had come to him. No reply meant indifference and with what he was about to do, he had needed and expected that from her. He had probably only sent the invitation so he could get it. That and the fact that he could say he did if anyone else asked. A reply stating that she could not attend due to work commitments, or any other reason, was utterly acceptable, on the surface. Some part of him, however small, might start to believe that she did not want to attend for …_other_ reasons. _'Even if you can barely stand to think them, you idiot.'_ Following through would have been just that much harder after that, even if it wouldn't have been enough to stop him. The time when she had that effect on his life was long past, if it had ever existed.

He had never expected, even for one moment, that she would want to attend, that she would actually come. And he had absolutely no idea what that meant. Something, he could not say what, just something had changed inside of him when he read those words. A small part of him was simply no longer there. He reached over and brought the beer to his lips, wishing that he could think about anything else. But no matter how he tried, his thoughts kept coming back to that little annoying, crazy woman. '_Were their roles reversed_ …_never_,' he sighed, _'I would have the decency to do the right thing, to stay away. She cannot even give me that.'_

Worse he could not imagine standing in that church, with Sandra hands in his and saying the words that were required as she sat and watched. What would the human lie detector think? Would he be able to stop himself from looking to see her face? What if she was happy? Vegas this weekend was looking better by the second.

He stood beer in hand, movie forgotten and walked into his spare bedroom which doubled as the study. He left the main light off and turned the lamp on, allowing just enough light for the dark wood desk to be lit and little else. That is, when the lightening wasn't shattering through the window, casting shadows in every which direction.

He placed the beer down as he sat, not bothering about a coaster. This night he didn't care. On the desk was the document that would make it final, make this his one chance. It sat open at the first page he needed to sign; other pages had tabs where ever else his signature was needed. It was a document that would change his life, if he let it.

To sign or not was one of those decisions that come along only rarely, that much he knew. It had its counterparts. Which college to attend, which course to take, what sport to focus on, which career to follow, to allow oneself to be cut off, to attempt an adult relationship with ones abusive father. Which woman to marry…

He tried not to think about what he was going to give up. Yet every time he did only one thing bothered him. He knew he would probably regret it in the future, but his life had not offered him that opportunity like it did so many others. There had been one other woman, once, that had things been very different and they met under different circumstances that he may have gone further then he had ever intended to let anyone go with him. But that had ended badly and the last few years had reaffirmed what he knew to be fact. He was alone in this world. And no one, not his father, not his job, and most definitely not a woman that had once told him that if he stopped trying so hard, what he wanted would come to him, could change that.

He reached down to his right and opened the second draw from the bottom. Most of the contents were bills and accessories, a stapler, spare pens, and tape. But the small highly polished wooden box was all he pulled out before he shut the draw. He could not have said why he had put it there to begin with, but it had sat untouched the whole time it had been in his home. It had been a point of pride, up until this moment.

Just as he placed it on his desk and went to open the lid, his phone started ringing. He contemplated not answering it for a few brief seconds before he remembered rule three: never be unreachable. "Yeah boss?"

"Get your stuff together DiNozzo, just got the call. Dead marine,' Gibbs voice did little to hide just how late it was and that no one was going to be having fun tonight, "found by the wife after coming back from out of state, dead in his home. You got half an hour."

"On it boss," he replied, his hand running over the wooden surface as he spoke, "get there as soon as I can."

He expected the phone to click dead in his ear, or perhaps something along the lines of 'Now DiNozzo', yet what he was not expecting was to listen to the radio in Gibbs car for a full five seconds before getting a reply. "Everything alright Tony?"

He grimaced wondering what had given him away but at the same time glad that he had been asked that question on the phone. "Never better," he said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, "You want me to pick some coffee up o-"

As the phone died he clicked his own shut, hoping Gibbs was satisfied. The last thing he wanted tonight was to be questioned. Looking out the window at the rain that continued to fall without any sign that it would stop any time soon, he was sure that he was most definitely not going to be in the mood.

Despite what he had told Gibbs he knew he couldn't leave without finishing what he had started. Reluctantly he leaned forward and opened the lid before reaching in and pulling out three pieces of paper. There was a small black velvet box in there as well, containing something that had once belonged to his mother, yet that remained where it was. Sandra wouldn't be getting that. He would give everything else for this one last jab, but never that.

The three pieces of paper, the three photos, he took and spread out under the lamp light on his desk to allow him to actually see what they contained. All of them were of the same thing, or near enough. Ziva on her side in a black bikini with white strips, gold chains linking the material. In the first couple she was reading her book, in the last she was looking up at him, apparently angry yet her eyes said something else entirely. They held amusement and a hint of something else, something challenging and fierce. The only place he had ever seen it was in her eyes, something he hadn't seen since she left. At one time it had intrigued him no end. He was surprise when he heard himself laugh, _'At one time, DiNozzo?'_

The woman had been his partner for three and a half years and he was still not sure if he knew her, or if he knew what she wanted him to know and nothing more. He wasn't sure what that said about his skill in his chosen profession but he tried to put it down to the fact she had an unfair advantage. Mossad had been training her while he was still in Baltimore. Despite the age difference, she had years on him.

He brought his finger up to the photo where she was looking at him and began to trace the outline of her face. If he was not mistaken, if he had not misinterpreted, she had once asked him to back off and wait. To give her some space and she would come to him. So he stood back and waited, tried to forget in the hopes that one day when things were a little less complicated…And what had he received in return? Nothing! Not one sign, not one approach, nor acknowledgement. If anything she had pulled further away at every opportunity until finally, she had just left.

Whatever may have been never got the chance to see the light of day, and surprisingly, for the first time he was glad. Glad that he had been spared yet another pain like Jeanne, or embarrassment at the very least. Perhaps she had never intended to do anything, that it had simply been her way of asking him to leave her alone. He sighed as he finally made his decision. Whatever the case it was in the past, where it belonged and it helped him do what was necessary now, helped him understand. He was never meant to have more. He smiled ruefully, _'His father would be proud.'_

He took the pen off the top of his desk and, after finishing off the last of his beer, began signing the prenuptial agreement. Sandra would get twenty percent, as they agreed. He would mail her copy to her in the morning, to be held in the event that he tried to back-pedal, and that would be that. Finishing he closed the lid of the wooden box and put it back in the desk. There was only one use for it now.

After turning off the lamp he took the pictures in hand and made his way out of his apartment and into the driving rain. It bit into his face as he struggled to pull his coat over his shoulders, cold and hard. By the time he paused next to the bin that was just a few feet from his car, his hair had been plastered to his forehead and water was threatening to soak all the way through his clothes.

In the pale light cast by the streetlight he took one last look at what he held, one last look at those eyes and gave himself one last chance to change his mind before he slid the now dripping photos into the receptacle and watched them fall. Finally, after five years, it was done. "Shalom Ziva," he whispered, only to have his words swallowed by the falling rain. Turning he jogged the rest of the way to his car and began driving back to reality, his thoughts on nothing but a dead marine and a grieving widow.

A/N: Don't know why but I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Anyway hope you liked it. Until next time.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: You think I really own something?

A/N: Tough crowd. One review last chapter. It only hurts cause I really liked it. Anyway, hope you like this one.

As he watched, she struggled to continue her exercises. Pain contouring her face, her hair hanging limp in a simple pony tail over one shoulder and her clothes bathed in sweat all signalling that she was near done for the day. Not for the first time he wondered where he had gone so wrong. In what world would a reasonable man bring his daughter up only so that she had little more to embrace than agony? He brought his hand up from the railing to rub his tired eyes. '_How had he ever convinced himself it would be different for her? Why had he even tried?_'

He stood at the raised entrance to the gym and watched those below, watched his daughter continue her rehabilitation. He struggled not to wince at the sight. Simple manoeuvres caused her pain, bending over brought a grimace, squatting caused her to hug herself. The gunshot wound accounted for some of that, the later complications the rest. She would be fine, they assured him, fine with time. He had nodded and smiled as much as he could. She may well live but whether his daughter survived was another matter. Who she may become, he was not sure he would recognise. She had been withdrawn before, this would only make it worse.

He was a proud man, but not too proud to realise he had been a fool. Ziva had lost her mother too young, her sister as well and he had been in no fit state to be what she needed either time. He had done what he knew. He hunted for those responsible, hunted for those that took the light from his world. Wherever they went, wherever the trail led, he followed. Days turned into weeks and weeks to years and all the while as he came closer to what he sought he had not realised what he was losing.

The daughter below him, the one struggling to lift a small weight that placed a light strain on her abdomen, was not the one that would have been if he had been a better man, a better father. She was strong, independent, resourceful and determined. For that he was relieved. She was also cold, closed off and seemingly unable to maintain the simplest of relationships with those she cared for, unable to reach out and unable to express herself. She was emotionally restrained to such a point that she was in danger of walking through the rest of this life alone. And for that he was responsible.

He had tried later in her life to be better, to do better. Yet nothing he could say or do would breach those barriers; that wall that had grown slowly but steadily over the last ten years. He had hoped that some time away from the struggle would allow her to relax and grow and for a time it seemed that he was right, though god seemed to be punishing him if the reports on her time at NCIS were accurate. Make friends, he had hoped. Learn to let them in, work with them, care for them. But the connection she seemed to have formed with one of them.... And to a man that was just as lost as she, even if for different reasons. Unspoken words, unfilled desires and relentless tension had eventually led to anger and she had come back worse then she left. And now…now she was near broken.

He turned and started down the stairs, signalling for his escort to remain near the doors. They did not need to hear what passed between the Director of Mossad and his suspended agent. Or even between father and daughter. Taking the steps slowly he prayed for guidance. He had never pretended to be a wise man, but just this once he hoped he could be, for her sake. She needed to get away, and Washington was a good a place as any other, despite the difficulties, or perhaps because of them.

She finished her session when he hit the landing halfway down and had spotted him before he reached the bottom. He tried not to notice the way her back straightened when she saw him or the way her face was suddenly blank. She simply stood and watched him as he walked closer, towel forgotten in her hand. She had her mothers face and her smile too, when she chose to use it, which was not often enough as far as he was concerned, though it pained him every time he saw it. To be reminded so clearly of what one has lost, is perhaps something no man should ever have to experience.

When he finally came to stand before her they silently regraded each other for a few seconds, her eyes searching his, questioning. She was the first to look away, her eyes flickering down and to the right, her head bowing as she spoke quietly, "Shalom father."

He forced a small smile onto his face to hide his wince. He held no delusions. That was not the way a loving daughter reacted when she saw her father. He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning over slightly and asking as mildly as he could manage, "Is this how you greet me now Ziva, am I that much a stranger?"

She shifted slightly from foot to foot before her blank face came up to meet his, those eyes now guarded and unsure. "Forgive me," she stated before reaching up and quickly kissing him on either check, "you will never be a stranger. It is just the last time we spoke…"

She trailed off; not wanting to bring up the fact that the last time he had seen her was at her hearing. The hearing where she had been found guilty of recklessness and had been subsequently suspended. She had not liked the fact that her leadership ability had been brought into question and later had not shied away from letting him know. Yet making amends for that was not what he had come here for, as far has he was concerned it was already forgotten.

He held out a hand toward his left and began guiding her towards the windows. "I understand. Come Ziva let us speak of other things." For a moment he thought she would not follow, that she would just continue to stare after him, then turn and walk the other way. Yet if he had learned one thing in his life, it was that if you lead, others would follow, and he was not disappointed this time. Though it was difficult to keep a rueful smile off his face, _'long passed were the days where she would come running just at the sight of me.'_ But they had passed long ago, he would not mourn them now.

He stopped walking in a relatively deserted part of the gym, bathing in the sun that streamed through the windows as Ziva slowly made her way towards him. He studied the people passing in the street below as he waited, watching as they moved in every which direction. A seething mass of humanity all moving with unknown purpose. Something highly organized yet chaotic. When his daughter finally moved alongside him her gaze followed his and he was surprised when she was the first to speak. "They walk without fear." She stated, before looking at him from the corner of her eye, "Do you think they know of the sacrifices that are made to make such a thing possible?"

"Would you wish them to Ziva?" he asked softly. Her gaze left his face at his words but he continued anyway. "Would you want them to know how many have died, how many suicide bombings have been prevented, just so they may walk down a street and think of nothing but what they wish for lunch?"

"No, of course not." She crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. "They are happy, unconcerned. I would never wish to take that from them. It is just, I think of Kira, Seth, all the others…Sometimes I just wish those they protected knew what had been done for them. That is all"

"Ah, I see." He smiled as he replied, "They may be ignorant but I believe they are not ungrateful. Perhaps they do not think of us as often as they should but perhaps that is our reward to yes, their happiness? That they continue to live their lives without fear, is that not what we are fighting for? Is that not what we wish to protect, their innocence?"

"It is what I was fighting for," she muttered, "what I wish still to be fighting for."

"So eager to return are you?" he said as he laughed, "You can barely walk, let alone run or fight and you wish to already be on active duty? Not so fast my daughter, your time will come again, if you wish. For now take some time, you have earned it."

"My whole command was killed, father." She replied softly, "I do not believe I have. You yourself declared me incompet-"

"_I_ did nothing." He cut her off before she could restart the argument, "The recommendation was put before me by the committee and I simply did as I would for any other officer, or would you prefer special treatment?" Her mouth tightened and when it became clear that she was not going to respond he continued, "And reckless is different from incompetence. They are aware that your junior agents were assigned to support and you were hit by a blind shot that was fired as the traitor ran. You were only reprimed because you did not allow for the possibility that you may be shot in yo…" he stopped himself and sighed. "I grow weary of talking of this. Nor is it the reason I came here."

"Then why did you come?" she asked angrily before turning and facing him, the street forgotten, "You did not bother to come see me in the hospital but here is more convenient?"

"I was not in the country Ziva, by the time I heard, you had already undergone surgery. Sometimes duty keeps us from where we wish to be. But this you knew already." He reached out and squeezed her arm, hoping that some of the regret that he felt would be conveyed to her. "I came to see if you were well. To see how you were progressing with your rehabilitation. I understand there have been problems?"

Some of the fire died in her eyes and she simply shrugged, "There was some internal bleeding, they had to redo some stiches, that is all." A ghost of a smile touched her lips, "And I am progressing as expected even though last week a could lift no more than a five year old. I should have full mobility in two months."

He nodded, silently relieved before venturing as evenly as he could manage, "And how are you sleeping?"

"As well as can be expected," was all she said and what that meant he was sure he was never meant to find out. When she had been a child, nightmares had plagued her more than once and judging from the circles under her eyes now was no different. He would, however, not put it past her to feel guilt for what she could not control either and the way she would not meet his eye…

"I understand and am relieved," he said finally, deciding not to push the issue, "your words make an old man happy."

She scoffed, "You are hardly old, merely…advanced."

He laughed, truly laughed for what felt like the first time in months. "That is debateable, my daughter, yet I thank you just the same." He paused and watched the smile linger on her lips for a few seconds before deciding that now was as good a time as any. _'May she not hate me for it'_, he begged silently. "Tell me, do you believe that anyone at NCIS may bear a grudge against the agency? Is there anything that may have happened that I should be made aware of?"

To her credit, she did not show her surprise. He shoulders slumped slightly in a way that screamed of disappointed yet her face was merely concerned. When she spoke, her words were once again void of any feeling, "No, I do not believe anyone disliked Mossad, nor did anything occur that may have made anyone bear a grudge. It is feared, misunderstood maybe, but not disliked." She frowned, "Why what has happened?"

He nodded, "You are sure? No one held any animosity toward the agency when you left?"

She glared at him, "No, father, no one. What ha-"

He stopped her mid sentence as he raised his hand and asked quietly, "Not even Senior Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo?"

This time she visibly flinched, her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her jaw tightened. "No not even Tony," she said softly before her voice strengthened, "What has happened?"

He waved his hand before him, wishing he could dispel her anger, "Forty-eight hours ago Agent DiNozzo shot and killed a man while investigating the apparent suicide of a marine who had overdosed." He pulled the autopsy photo from his pocket and handed it to her, "He was an undercover Mossad agent investigating a drug cartel which we believed had been funding Hamas operations. We have no reason to believe he would not make himself known to an NCIS agent, or resist arrest."

"And what does NCIS say happened?" she asked while she studied the picture.

"They say nothing." At her surprised look he continued, "They do not know he was a Mossad agent. We feel it would be best if it remained that way until we have completed a …investigation."

"Investigation?" she said, surprised, "You believe that Tony _murdered_ a Mossad agent?"

"That is one explanation, yes." He sighed, "Another is that he had turned, or felt that he could not make himself known, or did not know that they were federal agents or any number of things. We simply wish to know the truth and without the Americans having time to prepare any contradicting evidence of their own. That is all."

"I still do not believe that Tony knowingly killed a Mossad agent and he would never kill a man who was surrendering. It is not in his nature." She handed him back the photo, "So you will send someone to conduct this investigation? Or has it already started?"

"It will start when you arrive in Washington." As he said the words she rounded on him, wide eyed. A pain began to grow in his chest as he imagined her leaving him once again but he continued before she could speak, "Who else will not raise suspicion? Who else knows him and the MCRT team? You can use those relationships, and despite any past emotional attachment we believe the death of a fellow agent will allow you to be objective."

"You are not serious," she asked, her voice low and fierce, "I cannot possibly investigate them. They are my friends."

"You can and you will," he held one hand behind his back and brought the other up and pointed at her, "You will be transferred to a security position within the embassy which will be held open while you complete your rehabilitation in America. While you are recovering, you will re-establish your relationships at NCIS and quietly begin your investigation."

"And if I refuse?" she simply asked.

"Then the committee has decided that there will no longer be a place for you at Mossad. It is your choice." As he spoke she glared at him, her back stiff and her shoulders taunt. She continued to stare long after he had finished talking before she turned and, without a word, walked away from him.

He didn't watch her stalk across the floor, he didn't notice the angry glares she through over her shoulder. He once again found himself watching the people that passed in the street, wondering how many of them had to push away what they loved so they could protect it. He too, did not believe DiNozzo had killed the agent with ill intent but the committee wanted the truth, and they were sure Ziva would be able to get it. He had been only too happy to comply. After all, that bullet could just as easily have taken the last of his light from this world.

A/N: Until next time peoples.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: It all belongs to someone else.

A/N: So discounting the first chapter I am detecting a pattern. Second chapter, one review. Third chapter, two reviews. So forth chapter can we do three? It means we'll get to ten…hehe. Anyway I hope you like.

He walked through the sliding doors, bags of food in hand, still trying to figure out how this had happened. One minute he had simply stood up and said he was heading to lunch. The next, he was taking orders. One chilli steak, two burritos and his own lunch, thank you very much. Oh, and don't forget the coffee. He had stood there, hands frozen in place on the jacket he had been straightening, not sure what was going on. Gibbs had started talking on the phone again, Stevenson left to head to autopsy and McGee... McGee had sat there staring at him, pen twirling in his fingers, with a small irritating smile on his face.

Normally he would have laughed and started talking about McNoChance. Yet this time he smiled till his jaw hurt, wrote down the list and walked away stiffly, trying to save as much of his dignity as he could. Circumstances demanded it. Sandra had been insistent that he ask and ask soon. Until he did he couldn't risk upsetting him, there was no one else. _'Screw waiting for the right opportunity, I can't take th-'_

As he walked through the lobby, his brain seemed to freeze in that one split second. He stopped dead on the black marble floor as he made the connections. He hadn't been himself for days; he had been receiving looks, and now this. _'They know something's up. Worse, McGee knows. They don't know why but they know enough.'_ They were pushing him to see how far it would go, how far he would bend. He was only upset it had taken him so long to figure it out. They seemed to have noticed straight away. _'Ah, hell.'_

He started walking again, knowing he had to get it over with. He tried not to notice the looks he was getting from the other people in the lobby. Some glanced curiously at the strange man that stopped still for a few seconds for no apparent reason. Others, like the two men he was walking up too, were smiling knowingly. And there was something else as well that he couldn't quite place, something odd. The two security guards just watched as he balanced the bags and coffee tray in one hand, while swiping his card with the other. As he passed through the gate he was surprised when one of them spoke in a voice that was far too innocent, "Hungry today, Agent DiNozzo?"

He slowed and felt his jaw hurt yet again, "Yeah Jack, something like that. Just one of those days, you know how it is."

He tired to keep the smile on his face but the man's reaction didn't help at all. Jack tucked his thumbs into the front of his belt, leant back a little and his smile only grew. "Sure is DiNozzo. Why I'm seeing things I never thought I'd see again." At that he laughed and winked. He actually winked! "If things get any stranger I might just have to take that sick leave I have built up. Always knew it would come in handy."

He forced himself to laugh with him, but even to his own ears it sounded more than a little strained. He looked down at what he was holding, shook his head, and started edging toward the elevator as he replied. "You know what, I might just join you." He waved as best he could, "I'll see you later."

Jack brought two fingers to his forehead before flicking them in a mock salute, "You too, Agent DiNozzo, but don't you worry about that sick leave, you won't be needing it." Not sure what that meant he simply turned the rest of the way around and started in earnest toward the elevators. He hadn't taken three steps, however, before part of what Jack said next floated to him and his back stiffened as both guards laughed. _'Why would a hospital be funny?'_ he fumed internally as he walked onto the elevator and pushed the right button. Then and there he decided two things. One, this ended now. Two, he was never been a delivery boy again.

Stepping out onto his floor he turned and walked as quickly as he could to his desk, not that it did him any good. He did his best, he really did, to ignore everyone and everything, but it was impossible. All around the bullpen, from one side to the other, people _noticed_ his return. Fellow agents stopped what they were doing, looked at him and smiled. They tapped partners on the shoulder and then pointed at him, only so they could share a laugh. Worst of all, it was the women that smiled the most, as if they shared some humorous secret. _'But the women aren't laughing DiNozzo, they are …happy?'_ Why did that disturb him more than anything?

In his own little corner of the world, he was happy to find Gibbs and Stevenson missing, and McGee sitting at his desk, hanging up his phone. _'All alone Probie? It's about time.'_ As he threwthe food on his desk and, despite himself, carefully placed the coffee next to it, McGee stood. "Tony, where have you been? I was just about to call you."

He turned, mouth agape, not sure if he had heard him correctly. "Are you serious McGee?" he pointed down at the food and forced himself to calm down, "I was out getting your lunch, chilli steak wasn't it?"

Tim blinked, like he had actually forgotten about the food, before he destroyed that notion as he spoke, "I know that Tony, it's just that you have been gone for-"

"If you are suggesting that I was taking too long McGee, I'd stop talking right now," he cut him off, his anger unable to be repressed this time. He was close to forgetting all about it for the day, forever maybe and knew he had to stop hesitating and get it over with. Still he glanced over his shoulder and decided to ask one more question, "Where are Gibbs and Stevenson?" He had spent money on their lunch, after all.

"They're down in the labs; it's what I have been trying to tell you." For some reason Tim looked happy and excited, something that rarely happened, except when there was a computer game in sight or a break in a case. Judging by the labs… "Tony,-"

This time McGee cut himself off as Tony moved toward him and grabbed his arm, pulling him along with him, "Later McGee. I need to speak with you. Come."

"What? Now Tony? Can't it wait?" he asked as he pointed behind him, his excitement fading as he became unsure. "There's something we need to do."

"Forget about your food for a few minutes, would you?" he asked as he continued to walk toward the conference rooms, McGee walking in step behind him. "This is important."

"Not as much as this," he muttered but when Tony threw him a look over his shoulder he held up his hands, his eyes widening slightly, "hey I'm coming aren't I? Just don't say that I didn't try to tell you."

"Fine," he replied as he came to the empty room, ushered McGee inside, and closed the door behind them. He could take all the head slaps and comments Gibbs want to give, this needed to be done.

He turned and looked at his probational officer, at the one time computer geek that had been slowly transforming ever since he had known him. He hoped he had something to do with that, but knew he couldn't take credit for it all; they had all played their part. _'How had it come to this?'_ he wondered yet again. Not that it was a bad thing, nor was he unworthy and he would never say he was they only person he had to ask, there was simply no one else he would consider. But still _McGee_? He surprised himself by laughing as he finally realised that he would have it no other way. _'Who would've thought?'_

For his part McGee was looking at him oddly, one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. At his laugh he sighed and rolled his eyes, "Didn't you have something to say Tony?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute, this isn't exactly something you do every day," he replied and tried not to notice the look that crossed the other mans face at those words. How did other men go about this? Was there some code that he hadn't been clued in on? Some protocol? Anything at all? This was almost as bad as the other thing.

Just before the silence became awkward he spoke, "McGee, as I think you know I am currently planning a wedding, or Sandra is planning a wedding and I'm just tagging along but that's beside the point." It was best to keep up appearances. "You know I'm getting married?"

"Sure Tony, everyone knows, I received my invitation a few weeks ago," Tim looked confused for a few seconds before guilt began to work its way over his features. "Sorry, I would have sent my RSVP sooner, I meant to but I forgot I hadn't sent it yet. I am coming Tony. Is that what this is about?"

"No, it's not but good to know," he replied as he brought a hand up to rub the back of his head, wondering why he hadn't checked that in the first place. He had just assumed. This would have been beyond awkward if he hadn't planned on attending. "This is about the wedding," he began pacing as he continued, "With every wedding there are certain roles that need to be filled, certain people need to do certain things." As he spoke McGee's eyes were slowly getting wider, "And at the moment some of those roles are vacant. The ones I am meant to get filled, if you catch my meaning?"

A smile had worked its way on to Tim's face and he felt some of the tension begin to leek from his shoulders. "Are you asking me to be a groomsmen Tony?"

"No, McGee," he replied, he voice low and soft as he stopped dead, "I'm asking if you would be my best man?"

For a few seconds Tim just stood there, smile frozen on his face, arms crossed at his chest, unmoving. Just when he thought that he might have made a mistake, the other man spoke. "M-me Tony? I thought Gibbs would…"

"You Tim." He replied looking him in the eye, trying to convey just how serious he was. He had thought about Gibbs but there was something about having his boss stand beside him that didn't quite feel right. McGee…McGee was like the little brother he never knew he never wanted. Or something like that.

Such things were not said of course, but Tim saw enough as he looked at him to step forward and shake his hand with a smile on his face. "I would be honoured, Tony."

Tony smiled as he brought his free hand around to slap him on the back, "It means a lot to me McGee. It really does." He paused for a few seconds as he wondered how this would look in a few years and for the first time faced some of his own guilt. He debated saying nothing but his conscious won out. "While this may not make much sense now, I just want you to know that no matter who, what, why or when, you would have always been my first choice. Remember that."

"You're right Tony," he replied as he looked him oddly, "that doesn't make any sense at all. But I will remember until it does."

"Thanks, McGee," he said as he began to laugh softy.

Tim stepped back a little and groaned at the look on his face, "Unbelievable." He held up one finger, "You get one. That is all."

"One what McGee?"

He threw up his hands in exasperation, turned, and started walking for the door. "Just say it Tony."

He followed him as McGee headed for the hall, laughing a little harder. "Hey, McBestMan, where are you going? We need to start talking bachelor's parties, I'm thinking Errol Flynn theme."

He didn't turn or slow down. He didn't flinch or sigh, but he was sure he heard laughter on his voice as he replied, "To get my lunch, Tony, we still have work to do. You remember that don't you?"

He only laughed in response as they made their way back to his desk. He hadn't forgotten, of course, yet sometimes life needed to come first, if only for a few minutes. Asking McGee to stand beside him was one of those times, he was already feeling relieved, sure of his decision and glad that he had finally worked up the nerve to do what was necessary. _'Now if only I had done it sooner…'_ Like most things in life, waiting was the worst part. He thought he had learnt that lesson long ago.

Back in the bullpen he was surprised to find both Gibbs and Stevenson back at their desks, already eating their burritos. They looked up as he and McGee rounded the corner, Stevenson glanced at them curiously but it was Gibbs reaction that finally set him on edge. He watched as Gibbs looked at Tim with one eyebrow raised, only to receive a small shake of the head. Question asked and question clearly answered. He was defiantly missing something. He opened his mouth to speak but Gibbs beat him to it, "Where you been, DiNozzo?"

He smiled as best he could as he walked the rest of the way to his desk, "Had something personal to sort out, boss. Won't happen again." He handed McGee his coffee and reached into the bag and pulled out the chilli steak sandwich, handing that over as well. "So what did Abby find?"

"Abby?" Gibbs asked, sharing another look with McGee.

"Yeah boss, you were down in the labs when I got back," he replied as he reached into the bag again_. 'What the hell?'_

"Abby hasn't found anything Tony. We were just …talking."

"Talking boss?" he relied as he laughed, "Since when do you go down to the labs to talk?" He glanced up, and noticing the look on the other mans face, quickly added. "Not that you don't boss, or that you shouldn't. In fact you should do it more, not that you don't do it enough. I mean…" He trailed off and quickly decided he needed to change the subject. With one last glance at his desk and the empty bag in his hand he asked, "Where is my sandwich?"

Gibbs only smiled in response, McGee shrugged and Stevenson helpfully added, "Went to a good cause Tony. Said you wouldn't mind…"

He just looked at them, not believing what he heard. _'I got their lunch. Paid for it myself and they let someone walk off with mine?'_ Small things shouldn't upset him but this was plain irritating, disrespectful even. He didn't know why, but he felt like someone was taking great pleasure in sticking needles in his eyes. Rolling his shoulders, he scrunched up the paper bag and through it vaguely in the direction of a bin, not caring where it actually went, before once again walking to the elevators.

As he walked away he saw Gibbs look at his wrist, shaking his head. "Make it quick DiNozzo."

"Sure thing boss," he muttered in reply, not caring if he heard. It would take as long as it took.

It was at the elevator though, where everything finally came together. He had just slammed the button, yet again, when something caused him to look to his left as he waited. He eyes slowly travelled over the red brick wall, past the rows of windows that looked out onto the bay, past the photos that lined the wall and to the stairs that led up to MTAC. As his eyes met the deep chocolate ones that he had been dreading, he finally understood. He understood why Gibbs was down in the lab; he understood what McGee had been trying to tell him, understood why the guards were placing bets on him ending up in a hospital and why everyone in the bullpen had been happy to see him. Ziva David was in America and, worse, she was at NICS.

She stood there as Vance walked away, visitors badge pinned to her top, _his_ Philly Cheese Steak sandwich in her hands, her eyes not leaving his. He felt his stomach lurch at the sight, not wanting to look away, never wanting to look again. He wanted to smile, he wanted to laugh but he remembered. Two years ago she had left; he remembered her walking away from him with nothing more than her duty as an explanation. He remembered her laugh when he had dared use the word 'relationship', oh how he remembered. He could hear it now, coming from those lips. And he remembered what followed.

She took a bite out of his sandwich and began to walk toward him, a small smile on her lips. As she moved her top shifted and his eyes flicked down to the bandage wrapped around her middle before moving back up again as he frowned. An unspoken question lingered between them, and just like always, she simply understood. Her casual nod told him more then any words ever could. _'Close but no cigar.'_ She may have replaced cigar with cigarette, yet even then it wouldn't have hidden the fact that she was badly shaken. No one else would ever know though, of that he was sure.

His face must have revealed more than he thought it did, or there was something in his posture that gave him away, because as the doors to the elevator opened she seemed to sense what was going to happen. She stopped walking halfway to him, her gaze swinging between his face and the open doors. The smile on her face faltered and died, and the sandwich was forgotten in her hands. As it had so many times in the past, her face became a blank mask and as he turned to walk onto the elevator, he saw her stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

'_Goodbye Ziva,'_ he thought once he could no longer see her. She had walked out on him and he was only too happy to return the favour. Never again would he open himself to that pain. As he watched the doors slid closed he tried not to notice the glares he was receiving from the bullpen, tried not to think of those eyes that had seemed so glad to see him and most definitely tried not to notice the pounding in his chest.

A/N:Kinda mean but it's what I saw, honest. So McGee not Gibbs... I'm sorry I just can't picture mister 'never get married' been the best man. Oh and did the chapter work? You were meant to know before DiNozzo did, just want to know if that actually happened…anyway until next time.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Still don't own it, surprise.

A/N: Hey I got four reviews when I wanted three. Lucky me. Seriously thanks to those who did review, just lets me know people are enjoying it is all. So I'll start focusing on quality over quantity, and you just hopefully enjoy. (The bold lettering is intentional and necessary by the way, it's only for a little bit.)

**She stood next to him, not daring to move, staring at her own reflection in the dull steel. Back straight, head forward, fingers taunt. The air vibrated. It positively pulsed. His anger burned. It buffeted her time and again. It washed over her, washed through her like an unceasing avalanche. Like the firestorm that had taken her childhood home, it consumed all before it. She stood helpless, waiting, waiting….**

**His hand flew out. She jumped. The elevator groaned to a halt, the abuse unappreciated. Like a loyal old dog set in its ways, it was doing something different that hurt the most. Like always. She braved a glance in his direction, quick and fleeting. He stood caved from ice, unmoving. His unseeing gaze punching through the floor, hands tucked into armpits, breathing heavy and strained. **

**She felt the impulse coming, building ever greater within her. She struggled against it, she fought, she screamed, she failed. It built in her stomach, it tightened her face, it danced on her shoulder, down her bicep, past her elbow, it lightly tapped her hand, it **_**breathed**_** on her fingers… **

**Her hand darted for the emergency switch. She had no chance. Quick would be unjust. His hand closed around hers before she made it halfway. His muscles clenched, hers protested. She cursed and dragged her hand back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a struggle. **

"**Leave." He didn't move, didn't bat an eyelash, just said the words, strong and bitter. "Leave and don't come back."**

**She laughed tauntingly, teasingly, she could never have said why. "Because I returned for you only, yes? My every thought, my every feeling, is focused solely on one T-"**

**The words died before they joined the others in his memory. He did nothing but turn and look at her. That was all. And she saw. She saw what she feared the most in this world. Open and plain it danced, laid bare with that one small gesture. And she saw him fight. He sneered, "**_**You**_** can feel?"**

**His laugh tore at her, cut deeper than any bullet, or the surest knife. It cut into a place only he could ever reach. Into the place he created. The place in her soul that she could not rid herself of. "When it comes to you, no I do not."**

**He flinched at her words, her mind cheered, her heart cried. This was not meant to be, this is not why she had come. He was not meant to be taken. He was not meant to have forgotten. And he did not, she saw now, he **_**feared**_** her. Yet there was the ring. And suddenly she realised she was pushing him again. Just as she had wanted. Just in the wrong direction. **_**'Fear not evil, no fear love my friends. Fear it all you can.'**_

"**Liar," he whispered as he hugged himself, his body shaking. **

**She felt her pulse quicken, the old habits are the hardest to break. "I do not feel, but then I feel for you? Solely you?" she snickered, "You who are what? The man who wants a medal for not sleeping with every woman he sees? The man who changes so often I know not who he is? The man that demands I leave then does not leave me alone." She paused, gathered her strength and hit the worst target of all, "The boy so damaged by his father he may never truly become a man?"**

**As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished them back. She watched him half cough, half laugh. Saw him lean his head back to stare at the ceiling, watched as he squeezed his eyes shut. Watched the tears haphazardly fall. He muttered something under his breath, turned and nailed her with a glare. "I can't believe it either. You left. I moved on. Things changed. You cannot be here. LEAVE."**

"**You need not fear me," her hand thrust out two fingers pointing at his temple, her words cold and hard, "I want nothing from you."**

**He chuckled darkly and threw the truth in her face without remorse, half whispering, half shouting, "Liar." His hand ran through his hair, his red rimmed eyes continued to betray him and his arms shook at his sides. "Your first mistake, you made the very first day, the very first moment. You made yourself a mystery, a contradiction. I could not ignore you."**

**She smirked, "I believe the term is 'stalker'," she threw her arms wide, "and I do not see what this has to do with anything."**

"**Running again are we? Hiding? Afraid of the dark? Scared of the unknown?" His words stung more then she would ever admit. A doctor could not cut with more precision. Slice her open, a few strokes, quick and sure. He held up two fingers, "Your second mistake. You let me know you. Not the front, not the mask, not the misconception, but you. Just you."**

**Her insides clenched at his words, her heart thudded, tears threatened to fall. **_**'Please no, please…'**_** An eyebrow rose. "You know me?" she scoffed, "You? The man whose own words betray him? You know me not at all." **

**He shook his head. "Why do you fight? It is all you know? To see what you want and then deprive yourself of it?"**

**Her mind told her she had just won and forced her to smile. Her heart cried, not all of it because of the words. "You prove my point. Claim to know me. Then ask what should be obvious. Stop wasting my time." Again she reached for the release switch; again she was roughly turned aside. **

"**And am I to believe that you have forgotten how to physically overpower me? I think not." This time his laugh actually held amusement. She felt her face heating. His meaning could not have been clearer. It whispered in the air between them, dancing with his mirth, teasing her **_**'You could leave if you truly wanted to…'**_** He turned to look in her eyes. "I ask questions to which I already know the answer. I am wondering if you do, however. Why do you insist on lying to yourself?"**

"**I do not lie to myself!" she stated angrily.**

"**Oh no?" he took a step toward her, forcing her to move back. "You do not fear me as much as I fear you?"**

"**Fear you? What is there to fear?" He forced her to take another step back as he towered over her. **

"**That I will destroy the life you have built, as you are destroying mine. Everything I wanted. No longer matters." He took a step forward; her neck ached looking up at him. "I fought as hard as I could. I truly did. Why could you have not said you would leave? That you would go away?"**

**Her body trembled. "I destroy nothing, perhaps your imagination is running away with you yes?"**

"**No," he whispered, "No. I try to hurt you yet you stay. You stand and deny. You stand and lie." Her back hit the wall of the elevator; he stopped an inch from her. She could feel the heat that his body radiated, could feel her back arch in anticipation. "All the while you wait, even after all this time."**

**Her eyes widened, she could no longer control her breathing, she felt like she was choking. "Get away from me." She tried to be threatening. The tears running down the side of her face undermined her. She pushed him at the shoulders, desperate. "You are delusional. I feel nothing for you! You… you..."**

**He grabbed her arms at the wrist and pinned them against the wall above her. Her body arched into his as he whispered, "You lie." And without pause he proved it. His lips crashed onto hers, soft and sure. Urgent and without remorse. Despite herself, she moaned and a few seconds later, she forgot where she was, forgot who he was, forgot her name…**

**Her leg lashed out, clipping him in the shin before her knee hit the back of his thigh. The pressure on her arms released as he cried out in pain, only adding to the inevitable. A quick twist, a jab at the waist and he was falling. He hit the floor as she spared a glance for the release, making sure it was firmly in place. No interruptions. A second later she was on top of him, eager and breathless. "Tommy," she whispered and she knew she would never wait again. He never saw**

**

* * *

  
**

He stopped as it came again. The incessant knocking vibrated through his apartment, drowning out Chopin and making him lose his train of thought. He considered ignoring it until it went away, considered remaining at the Remington indefinitely, waiting until Lisa and Tommy spoke to him once more as he told their story. For months he had been unable to see where his book had been heading, been unable to see what made this one different from the rest. His editor had demanded character development and as a result he had developed a block. His muse had deserted him. But this night, he had come home and Lisa had been practically shouting, demanding even. Strong physically, defenceless where it counted the most, fragile even and Tommy, unable to resist.

He had read over what he had already written and seen the signs, seen the hints. They glittered like hidden diamonds, waiting to be exposed and he knew suddenly what would happen, simple as that. He tried not to think what it meant that Lisa was screaming now that Ziva had returned, when she had been quite for so long. He had begun writing, the scene that the rest of the book would be built, a relationship that would play out unseen, leaving the readers waiting, perhaps even to the next volume. The undercurrent would always be there, a secret shared between him, Lisa, Tommy and the reader.

And now…The knocking came again, louder this time, more insistent. He looked at what he had just written. He had no idea what Agent Tommy never saw coming. The image of what Lisa was doing, what she had been about to do, was gone. "Damn," he muttered as he stood, leaving the cold metal keys of the typewriter behind. _'Only for the moment,'_ he promised himself as he turned the music off before heading to the door. _'It wasn't even that loud and it was classical! If this is that-'_

The thought died as he swung to door open to reveal a smiling man holding two pizzas and a six pack. "Tony?" he spluttered in surprise, "What are you doing here?" He sounded as shocked as he felt. He couldn't remember the last time Tony had stopped by outside of work hours. He felt his eyes widen slightly and he had to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder. _'There's no way he could possibly know about that already. But there had been other times when he had known impossible things, just like Gibbs…'_

Tony chuckled as he moved past him and into his apartment. "What? Can't a guy stop by to watch the game with his best man, McGee?" He set the pizzas and beer down on the coffee table before settling in a couch and turning on the TV. "Besides," he continued in a softer voice, "you had a rough day. I thought you could use the company."

Tim shut the door slowly, still trying to figure out what was going on. _'He didn't even ask to come in'_ he thought indignantly, but that was not was important now. He thought back, trying to think of any reason why DiNozzo might think he needed company. Apart from what he himself had done just before lunch, the day hadn't been anything out of the ordinary, well apart from Ziva's visit. He shook his head, "What are you talking about, nothing even remotely bad happened to me?"

The other man shot him a look as he removed a beer from its packaging. That was all but he understood anyway. The image of Tony and Ziva standing in the bullpen, him at the elevator, her stopping halfway to him, surfaced in his mind. Ziva had left almost immediately after that. She hadn't smiled once. Tony had returned an hour later, acting like nothing had happened. But then, he was good at that. He could almost hear Tony's voice in his head taunting him, _'Some best man you're turning out to be McGee, dropping the ball already.'_ He realised it should have been him, turning up at Tony's place, unannounced. He looked at the clock and winced. It should have been hours ago. "Yeah you're right," he said as he to moved and grabbed a silver bullet, "Thanks Tony."

"No problem McGee," he replied cheerfully.

After that they lapsed into a semi routine. Between mouthfuls of pizza, somehow Tony knew which one liked, and beer they actually talked about the game. Well almost. Tony would make a comment about a call or play and he would mutter a few words in agreement. Other times he would hesitantly venture a comment about a particular players worth to the team, not really sure he knew what he was talking about and Tony would grunt in response. He wasn't sure if it he really agreed with him, or if he was just been gracious as he repeated what he was sometimes forced to listen to on the radio. _'Who really cared if they should have traded for someone else? Why argue about it?'_

As the game wore on, however, he began to wonder how long it could continue, them talking about anything but what was really on their minds. Time and again something would happen on the screen and Tony would stay silent, unmoving. He would glance over to find him staring vacantly at the wall behind the TV, more often then not beer held halfway to his lips, forgotten.

All in all it solidified in his mind what he had suspected for some time. Something had happened, or came very close to happening, between Tony and Ziva. He wasn't the same man after she left, a little quieter, a little more reserved, more focused on the job. The practical jokes, which had once come thick and fast, had slowed. Verbal banter was kept to a minimum, at least for a few months and the one time constant stream of one night stands trickled to a standstill. So much so that for a while he had begun to suspect that he was actually seeing no one at all. Then Sandra had suddenly appeared from nowhere and changed all that. Still, to be so affected by the return of a woman when he was marrying someone else…What did that say about the wedding? About Sandra? _'What was going on?'_

There were so many questions to ask, so much he wanted to know, but he was not sure what crossed the line, what was too personal. He shifted irritably in his chair, not sure how to proceed. Should he question why he had never heard of Sandra before they announced their engagement? Should he ask why Tony had walked out on Ziva the way he had? _'Could he ask about any of it at all? Should he even?'_ He hadn't been in many situations like this before, any really, and it only added to his discomfort. Sometimes, things were just not talked about, sharing was not required. Yet Tony had come here and he obviously had something on his mind_. 'Did he come here to talk about it, or take his mind off it?'_

The answer to that question eluded him, so he stayed quite, slowly drinking his beer waiting for whatever would happen to happen. With his companion not paying attention to what was on the TV what little interest he had in it vanished and he once again found himself imaging what would happen on that elevator and had become so caught up in it that he was actually surprised when Tony finally spoke, a smirk on his face, "So I wasn't interrupting anything when I turned up, was I McGee? I heard some odd music and well, it wasn't little Timmy's _'private'_ time was it?"

He chuckled in response, unable to help himself. Only Tony. "No nothing that important Tony, I play classical music when I write sometimes." he paused, waited until the man sitting across from him brought the can to his mouth and said as casually as he could, "Tommy and Lisa were about to have sex in an elevator is all." He watched the other man choke, beer spraying from his mouth, "At least I think they were about to have sex, I'm not sure what would have happened."

"You're not sure, McPervert?" Tony spluttered as he sat up and hung his head over his knees, trying to control his breathing.

Tim laughed, for once not caring about the liquid on his rug. "I'm never sure what is going to happen, Tony. Keeps it interesting for me and fluid for the reader. If I had kept writing I would know by now." He grinned, "Maybe Lisa would have broken his leg instead. Somehow that seems more realistic."

Tony snorted as he too smiled, "Yeah it probably is." Then his face grew serious as he sat back, wiping a hand across his mouth, "But if they do, you know, do the shing dig. Best Lisa ever had, you hear me McGee? You owe me that much at least."

Well if he had a choice between been killed by Tony or Ziva, he'd take Ziva any day, much more efficient. Still he couldn't resist, "Weren't we just talking about realism Tony? Maybe the pressure gets to Tommy and things are a little fast, or don't work even. They have been waiting for a while you know."

What he expected in reply was far different from what he got. He thought he might receive indignation, that Tony might even become more demanding and start calling in references, but he had not been expecting Tony to ignore all but what he said last. "Too long Tim. They waited far too long. Tommy should never have let her leave."

And just like that Tony answered the question that had been bugging him all night. Not directly but near enough. He wanted to talk, even if it was in metaphors. He spoke slowly, knowing he was on dangerous ground. "He didn't have a choice Tony, Lisa made up her mind to go home and nothing was going to stop her."

Tony grunted as he leaned forward and put his beer on the coffee table before once again staring at the wall behind the TV. "Maybe McGee, maybe. But we both know he could have done more before."

He didn't debate that. If Tony said he could've done more, then there was more he could have done. "And now Tony? Now that Lisa is back, what should Tommy do?"

"That is the question, isn't it McGee?" he sighed as he brought his elbows to his knees and his face to his hands. "I think it's too late, though. If Lisa had come back sooner…maybe things would be different. But there are things that are set in stone now, no one can wait forever. I'm sure Tommy's life would have been far easier if she had just stayed away."

His eyes widened slightly at that, wondering if Tony was completely aware of what he was saying. "That in itself says a lot don't you think Tony?" As the man turned a questioning gaze on him he elaborated, "I could name a hundred people from my past that if they started working at NCIS tomorrow it wouldn't matter at all. And Lisa doesn't even work with Tommy anymore, doesn't even have to see her if he doesn't want to."

Tony smiled ruefully as he shook his head. "True, McGee, very true." He paused and dropped the pretext, "I think I messed up today."

"By getting on the elevator?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah McGee the elevator. Who does that?" he grabbed his beer and sat back in the couch. "Don't get me wrong, we didn't exactly part on the …best terms but she didn't deserve that. I was just waiting for the elevator then suddenly there she was and it was like she never left, two years never happened and we were back on the day she told me she was leaving," He clicked his fingers, "just like that."

"You were shocked," he said as he began to wonder what exactly happened, what was said between the two on that day. He was suddenly glad they had had that conversation privately, been near them when they had started talking...

"I guess so McGee," he sighed, "but two years _have_ passed, I've changed and I'm sure she has too. I'm going to be a happily married man in a few months, there is no reason to treat her that way, it seems …petty. How do I stop this from been awkward? I probably won't see her that often but still."

Tim had to fight the urge to laugh. _'How could he, the guy who at one time made solving crimes a hobby that supported his late night activities, not see the answer to this one?'_ He reached for the controller and turned the TV off; neither of them were watching it anyway. "It may seem like a foreign concept but you could try apologising. Just tell her what you told me, that seeing her brought back some old feelings that are gone now and that you are actually happy to see her. Or something like that."

Tony stood indignantly, pointing at his chest. "You want me to apologise after what…" he trailed off and stood straight his arms folded across his chest. For a long time he stared off to a point to his left, frowning. Eventually he muttered under his breath, still not looking at him, "I would never have done it two years ago, she won't be expecting it." He looked back at him, "Just so you know I had considered it, I just didn't think I should be the one apologising. But I can be the bigger person." He yawned, "It will clear up the whole mess, won't it?"

"It should," he smirked as he too stood, "plus it would make been around the two of you easier for everyone else."

DiNozzo nodded as he began moving toward the door, glancing back over his shoulder as he walked, "You know she is coming to my wedding? What do you think that means McGee?"

Time shrugged as he followed, "That she wants to be at your wedding? That she is happy for you Tony?"

He exhaled, "That's what I thought as well." There was something in his voice that made him think of a man resigned to his fate, a man that had made choices that led down only one road, before he laughed, reached over and patted him on the back, "Thanks for the talk."

Tim smiled in reply, "Anytime I have a problem, Tony, you're welcome to come over."

"Will do, McGee." He opened the door and got halfway through it before he turned slightly, and spoke without looking at him, "Oh, and on that subject of realism that we were talking about earlier, I think Tommy prefers it when Lisa's hair is curly, just so you know. Straight is fine, but curly is better."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said in surprise as the door shut the rest of the way. That was something he had most defiantly not been expecting, but then the whole night was something he would never have expected to happen. He turned and began to clean up as he realised that this wedding could be a turning point in their friendship. Now all he had to do was decide whether he was actually going to use what he had written earlier and, if he was, exactly what was Lisa about to do to Tommy? He had some editing to do.

A/N: So was it too confusing to start with? It was interesting to do, pretending to write like McGee, try and change your style though I think I may have slightly failed but anyway hope you enjoyed, until next time.


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